


Man is a Wolf to Man

by Sineala



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece & Rome, Alternate Universe - Gladiators, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Cap_Ironman Holiday Gift Exchange 2017, Capwolf, Community: cap_ironman, Cuddling & Snuggling, Happy Ending, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-26 03:18:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13227012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/pseuds/Sineala
Summary: When Antonius is falsely accused and convicted of murdering an ambassador, he is condemned to death by the wild beasts of the arena. But the wolf sent to kill him is something rather more than he ever expected.





	Man is a Wolf to Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cap Iron Man Community](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Cap+Iron+Man+Community).



> For the prompt "Any: Capwolf + Gladiator au - Tony is damnatio ad bestias, condemned to fight a vile beast in the arena. Things go a bit differently."
> 
> Cliché title is cliché, but I had to do it. Sorry not sorry. Please enjoy some Ancient Roman Capwolf!
> 
> Thanks to Lysimache for beta.

As the iron-barred door closed, locking him within the cell, Antonius wondered how he had gotten himself into this predicament.

That was a lie, of course, for he knew exactly what had happened. At his sumptuous dinner party to welcome the delegation from Carnelia, the legate had clutched his throat, foamed at the mouth, rolled off his couch, and collapsed stone-dead on Antonius' fine mosaic floor. His kinsmen had brought charges under the lex Cornelia, the law against assassins and poisoners.

The trial had been swift, brutal, and entirely unjust. Antonius' lawyer, a blind man by the name of Matthaios, should have secured him a victory; enough people claimed he was near enough to Cicero himself in eloquence that Antonius had believed it would be well. Even though he had no kin to bring to court himself, no living parents, no wailing wife and children -- only a cousin who thought so ill of him that they had not spoken in years -- Matthaios assured him there would be many to speak to his character.

There should have been. He was rich. He had clients by the dozen. But there was something foul here; they had been paid or threatened not to come. In the end the only one waiting for him was Felix, and he had not been enough.

The jury's vote had been overwhelming, and the praetor handed down the verdict. He was of the gens Antonia, but it was the plebeian branch, and so there was only one possible sentence for a poisoner: damnatio ad bestias. Thrown to the wild beasts of the arena.

His property had been confiscated. His house, his land, his money. The state took all of it.

And now he was here, in a cell, and tomorrow they would have his life from him too.

To compound the indignities, they were keeping him with the beasts.

The warren of cells was as dark as night, and when the guards had led him in, the flickering light of their torches had barely lit the length of the hallway. It had been worse, somehow, than if he had been able to see, for that meant that his frightened mind filled in the shadows. There were soft breathing noises, the flick and swish of tail in the dimness, the shape of a paw. Here and there there were quiet roars among the breathing, the very noise that made Antonius' cellmates unmistakable. The lions.

One of the guards laughed, and Antonius heard his hobnailed footsteps against stone, walking away. Antonius stepped as far back into the shadows as he could -- as far away from the other cells as he could get -- until his back hit the clammy wall, and he slid to the floor.

He shivered in the chill; it was cold with only a tunic. His skin prickled.

The outer door slammed shut, and he was alone with the beasts. With his death, coming on.

He drew his knees to his chest, pressed his face to his legs, and felt tears begin to leak from his eyes.

What of it, if he cried? There were only lions to hear him. Perhaps a wolf or a bear.

He sobbed.

The creature in the cell next to him took notice of the noise. Antonius could not make out the shape of the beast-- but he could see movement. He had awoken it, he was sure; there was a shifting sound, and something brownish in the dimness rising up, a foot or two above the ground. An animal, putting its head up.

Antonius waited for it to snarl, lunge forward, snap at the bars.

There was a tiny high window, above Antonius' cell. If the beast drew closer to the patch of light it cast, he could see it, but as it was he had only his imaginings.

"Don't cry," a voice said, from the other cell. Not a beast at all, then.

By Hercules, there was another man in here? Antonius flushed with shame in the darkness, for this stranger had heard him weeping like a child.

Antonius hung his head. "I am sorry. I thought I was alone. I thought there were only beasts."

The voice laughed, and something about the sound was slow and sad. "Truer than you think, friend."

No one had called him _friend_ since before the trial. If he was to die tomorrow, perhaps the last night of his life would not be entirely miserable.

"You are to be thrown to the beasts as well, then?" Antonius ventured.

The man laughed again; the noise sounded rather like a bark. "In a manner of speaking," he said, and now the words were even sadder. He had a Greek accent, Antonius realized; he wondered if the man had been a slave. What he had done.

There was no noise now but the sound of animals shifting in their cages; Antonius thought perhaps the other man was afraid of him, not wanting to move closer, but he could not imagine why.

"To put it another way," the man added, in a low and rueful tone, "you might say I already have been."

That hardly made any sense.

Antonius knew he talked too much when he was afraid, and now, surely, he was the most fearful he had ever been in his life. He swallowed hard. "I am like to die tomorrow," he confessed, into the darkness, "and if I-- if you would listen to me, as a friend, I would be heartened. My name is Antonius," he added. "Gaius Antonius. I trade -- I used to trade in metals, and work them. They called me Ferratus for it." Iron-clad. It had been a bit of a joke, but the name had stuck.

Surely the man had heard of him?

"Well-met, Antonius," the stranger said, after a pause.

"Oh, I think this is not well at all," Antonius retorted.

There was another odd growling bark of laughter. "You have a point."

He was a vain man, so he had to know: "You have not heard of me, then?"

A shape moved in the darkness. The man was, perhaps, shaking his head. "I have been long away from the world," he said, as if the fact brought him shame. "I am sorry, but I have not."

It was odd, but hearing that made Antonius feel ever so slightly better. He didn't mean anything to this stranger; the man would not glory in his downfall. He was just another condemned prisoner. They were not different. They would not be different.

"More for me to tell you about myself, then," Antonius said, and the man laughed again.

There was more silence, this time almost contemplative. On the far side of the cells, some beast grunted in its sleep.

The stranger coughed, like a hound with a bone in its throat. "I cannot decide," he began, slowly, "if you are waiting for me to ask you what crime sent you here, or if you would rather I did not."

He was kind; Antonius liked him already. But then, he had been long starving for kindness.

"They say I am a poisoner," Antonius said, and he waited for the other man to turn away, to flee even farther in the dark.

There was only a soft sighing sound, a sort of panting. The stranger said nothing.

"I didn't do it," Antonius blurted out, helplessly, and then wanted to curse himself, because it hardly mattered, and surely everyone said that even if they were guilty, and no one had ever--

"I believe you," the stranger said.

Only Felix and Matthaios had believed him. It had not been enough.

Antonius found he was smiling in the dark. At least-- at least if he was to die, he would die knowing that someone else here knew the truth. "Thank you," he said, fervently. "I thank you so much."

The man shifted in the darkness; Antonius still couldn't see him. "I did not think to end up here," he murmured, "but I suppose death comes for us all."

"Should I ask what you did?"

The man laughed. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"You believed _me_."

There was more silence, only cut by breathing.

"A long time ago, I tangled with a sorceress," the man said, finally. "It went ill for me."

Antonius had never known anyone who had met a real sorceress. Oh, there were always spells and prayers and charms, people working magic against their enemies, but the way this man said it, he sounded rather like he meant something different. Something more important.

"A real sorceress? Like in the songs? Like in the Odyssey?"

The stranger's laugh was rueful. "Exactly so."

"What," Antonius asked, "and that is a capital crime now?"

"Well," the man allowed, "then, much later, the Romans found me. They are very good at inventing reasons to kill you if they want to. No offense meant."

"None taken." Antonius, after all, was the victim of a trumped-up charge as well. Perhaps the two of them were more similar than he had thought. He smiled. "Thank you. It was nice to make your acquaintance...?"

"Stephanos," the man supplied. A good Greek name. Of course. The victory garland.

Stephanos. He would remember that.

If they gave Antonius time to pray tomorrow, he would set aside a bit of spelt-cake for the gods, and pray for a good and honorable end for both of them.

"I will see you in the morning, Stephanos," Antonius told him.

There was a pregnant pause.

"I hope not," Stephanos said.

* * *

In the morning, when it was light enough to see, Antonius awoke and found that the cell next to his was empty.

In fact, most of the cells were empty. The fighting beasts had presumably already been transferred to the holding cells beneath the amphitheater itself. But that did not explain why they would have taken Stephanos away while he slept; surely they would have wanted to move all the men at the same time?

Eventually a guard came in to bring him a stale loaf of spelt bread and a clay cup of water.

"What happened to the man in the cell next to me?" Antonius asked.

"Eh?" the guard said, broadly miming confusion.

"The man." Antonius stood up, strode forward, and wrapped his hands around the bars. "The one who was here."

The guard just shook his head, laughed, and walked away,

Antonius set out a bit of bread for a prayer for Stephanos anyway. Wherever he was, he was going to need it.

* * *

The roar of the crowd was deafening.

Antonius stood behind the gate, in the shadowy tunnel, and waited for his death. He couldn't see the sands through the gate, but he had been a spectator at the arena often enough to be able to imagine what the crowds would see -- a man, as any other, stripped bare to the waist, clad only in a loincloth. He would step out; he would be summarily dispatched.

He knew what his blood would look like, staining the sand.

He was not even given a sword and buckler. Not that it would have mattered; he was no kind of soldier, and he would not have lasted long even with them. They did not feed the animals for the morning of the games.

The gate rose.

He walked forward, onto the sands.

He squinted up into the sun, around the arena at the cheering, jeering crowds, at the president of the games in his ornate, cloth-draped box -- the man who gave mercy to the other fighters. There would be no mercy for Antonius.

There was a low rumbling noise, and the sandy floor shook. They were bringing the lifts up from the underground cells, bringing in the beasts. Clearly, they did not intend to waste any time.

At the other end of the arena, the sand fell away in a pit, a huge rectangle, and a lift rose up.

On the lift stood a wolf. He was a huge wolf, his shoulder easily the height of Antonius' hips, and his fur was a striking pale brown in color, almost golden. Unlike most of the arena wolves, this one did not seem mangy or underfed; if he hadn't been going to kill Antonius, he might even have been beautiful. But to look at him, he wasn't about to kill anybody. The predatory look that Antonius associated with wolves was absent from this one's eyes. He didn't look like he was thinking about hurting Antonius at all.

Well, if the creature wasn't in the mood, they'd bring in a few spearmen to persuade him to lash out.

Antonius waited, but no other beasts were forthcoming. He supposed one was enough. This wolf was quite large.

The crowd roared.

And the wolf just... stared at him. His gaze gleamed with intelligence. It was as if he could understand what was going on.

The wolf walked forward, slowly, padding across the arena. He left huge pawprints in the sand. His body was sinuous motion, elegant from nose to tail. His gaze was fixed on Antonius alone, heedless of the shouts of the crowd, as if he knew who and what he was here for.

A few feet away from Antonius, the wolf stopped. Antonius held his breath and waited for the wolf to shift his weight, waited for those powerful hindquarters to bunch, waited for him to snap and snarl and leap. But the wolf merely tilted his head. His eyes were an odd color for a wolf, a pale, watery blue.

They regarded each other.

And the wolf... sat down. In the sand. As if he were an ordinary hound.

Antonius' heart pounded in his chest. It felt as if prolonging his death would almost be worse than dying. Let the wolf strike now. Let it be over.

"Come now," Antonius said, and he felt rather like he was calling a recalcitrant hound. "If you're going to kill me, then kill me."

The wolf cocked his head, his ears pointed intently at Antonius. His jaw dropped, revealing shining white teeth, a lolling tongue. His eyes widened. It was look of utter surprise. Antonius might have said he looked astonished, would it not have been ridiculous to say an animal could feel that.

And the wolf... spoke.

"Antonius?" the wolf asked, as clear as anything, in a man's disbelieving voice. "Is that you?"

Antonius took three steps backward and nearly fell over. He was dying, he was in some fever-dream, he had never woken. This could not be real.

"O immortal gods," he said, under his breath, and he made the sign against the Evil Eye.

It didn't feel like a dream.

"Antonius," the wolf said again, more urgently. "It's me."

And then he placed the voice. The man in the cell next to him. The man he'd never seen. The man who had gone with the beasts in the morning. The man who -- it was becoming clear -- was something rather more than a man. _I tangled with a sorceress_ , he had said.

"Stephanos?"

The wolf bobbed his head in a nod.

"What," Antonius said. "What-- how--"

Stephanos gave him a look that was rather like a smile. "It is a long story."

Antonius was dizzy with a feeling that wanted to be relief, even though he knew that he was by no means safe yet. "I take it you don't want to eat me?"

"Certainly not," Stephanos said.

The crowd was still roaring, chanting for his blood. They could not hear anything the two of them said to each other. No one could.

They could not, however, miss when Antonius knelt in the sands and Stephanos bounded forward, wagging, into his arms.

"I feel like Androcles," Antonius murmured.

Stephanos swiveled one furred ear around to listen to him, and then he laughed. Seeing him do it did explain, Antonius thought, why it had sounded like a bark last night.

"I must say I don't feel like a lion," Stephanos said, "but, here, feel free to check for thorns."

He put one great paw in Antonius' open palm, his fearsome claws resting ever so lightly against Antonius' skin.

Antonius bent his face against Stephanos' shoulder. He thought perhaps he was crying. He thought perhaps they would kill him anyway, but at least he had seen a miracle first. And, even rarer, the miracle had become his friend.

* * *

In a just world, Antonius would have been spared. The president of the games would have said that he had already been condemned, his sentence served; it would not have mattered that the wolf had not killed him. The president would, perhaps, have done so in recognition of the miracle. Perhaps Stephanos would have spoken to him, would have revealed himself to the world as something other than an ordinary wolf.

But this was not a just world, and whoever it was who had falsely accused Antonius of murder -- perhaps it had been Furius -- still wanted him dead, and word came down that he was not to be spared. That he would fight again tomorrow. Another beast, if necessary.

And at any rate, Stephanos had said nothing. The world thought him a wolf.

The guard laughed as he shoved Antonius forward into the darkness of the beast-cells once again.

"Hey, Ferratus," the man said, roughly. "You like that wolf so much, how about I give you a cellmate tonight?"

He had a hand in the middle of Antonius' back, and then Antonius was stumbling forward into a cell, slipping on the stone, landing in disgrace on the cold, cold floor. The cell door was shut, and then the outer door.

It was too dark to see, but there was the soft noise of movement from nearby.

Antonius hoped the guards could tell one wolf from another, otherwise the night would be terrible indeed.

A cold wet nose pressed against the back of his hand.

"I am sorry," Stephanos said, low in his ear. "I thought to save you."

"You tried. Thank you." Antonius smiled a rueful smile into the darkness. "And at least tomorrow I shall die knowing that there are such wonders in the world."

Stephanos licked his hand in reassurance; it was odd now, knowing that a man had done it. "I am glad of that, at least. Are you well? Were the guards rough with you?"

Antonius stretched a little, to see. He was bruised. His knee was scraped. But the main problem -- other than his impending death -- was the chill, for it was colder than last night and he was wearing even less; they still had not given him his tunic back, so he wore only a loincloth.

His teeth chattered. "No, they were fine."

"You're freezing," Stephanos said. "Here, here, I can fix that--"

And then Stephanos curled around him, as if he were a tame hound. His huge furred body was warm, so warm, and Antonius was already feeling better, although now perhaps this was the strangest thing to think of from a creature who was a man grown. Still, he was a Greek, and everybody knew about Greeks. (Everybody did not know about Antonius; he did tend to like his men, unfortunately, rather older and freer than good taste dictated.)

"You don't mind?" Antonius asked, mostly because he felt he should. It was not as if he wanted Stephanos to stop.

"If I'd minded, I wouldn't have done it," Stephanos said, with some asperity. "And besides, you must know you're-- you're--" He seemed to have found some shame after all.

"I'm what?"

"I had not realized last night that you were quite so attractive," Stephanos said, in a very quiet voice, and he shifted awkwardly; Antonius felt his tail lash against him. "Which I understand you may not want to hear from a wolf, even one with the mind of a man."

He was, then, very Greek in his preferences, after all.

"Well, you must know you're a very handsome wolf," Antonius said, and Stephanos huffed out warm breath against Antonius' side. It was a laugh, Antonius supposed. "And, you know, we Romans, we like our wolves."

There came another huffing breath. "So you do."

He wondered if Stephanos had been well-favored, as a man.

"As for myself," Antonius said, echoing Stephanos' words, "I had not realized last night that you were a wolf. I had not known there were... beings like you. Are there others?"

Butting Antonius with his snout, Stephanos shook his head. "Not that I know of. Not outside Aeaea."

Oh. When he had said _a real sorceress from the songs_ , he had meant exactly that. Circe.

"You-- you met Circe?"

"A very long time ago," Stephanos said, and Antonius wondered how old he was. "I was sailing-- well, I lost my way, and we wrecked, and I did not know the island for Aeaea until it was too late, and then--"

"And then she turned you into a beast." Just like in the stories. Antonius supposed he was lucky he had not become a pig.

There was a flash of pale teeth in the darkness, a grimace. "Well, first I refused to lie with her. _Then_ she turned me into a beast."

Antonius could not help but laugh. "You might have spared yourself the trouble and followed Odysseus' example."

"I have had very many years to think that," Stephanos agreed. "But, no, I find I prefer-- er--"

"Condemned Romans?" Antonius suggested.

"Perhaps," Stephanos said. He sounded as if he expected Antonius to bolt at any moment. But this was the last night of his life -- why should Antonius turn down comfort from any source.

"Well, I am grateful that you spoke to me," Antonius said. The truth seemed to be too vast, and he was grateful too for the darkness.

Hesitantly, Stephanos slid his huge head into Antonius' lap, and Antonius' hands came down to run through his fur.

"Since I fled Aeaea," Stephanos said, the words halting, "I hardly spoke to anyone. Certainly the Romans who captured me for the games thought me a wolf. But you were-- you were crying, and you seemed so sad. And I thought I could talk to you, brighten your last days just a little. And you-- you _care_." This last word was said in a tone of utter wonder.

"I do," Antonius said, softly. "I think-- I think you're the kindest man that I have ever met."

"Even if I'm a wolf?"

"Even so," Antonius said. "And I only regret that I won't be able to know you for longer."

At once, the cell-block brightened, as if men had walked in with torches -- but the door had not opened. There was a light, brighter now, bright as day, at the other end of their tiny cell. The light dazzled Antonius' eyes, and he blinked against it.

And then there was a woman standing there.

She glowed still, and it lit the room. She was tall, pale and beautiful, as the songs always described the gods. She had long, dark hair, flowing down over her chiton and himation, which were made of the finest material. Her face, though stunning, was wrinkled into an arch and cruel expression. She looked disbelieving, somehow, though Antonius could not imagine what he had done to deserve that.

Clearly it was a day for miracles.

Stephanos leaped out of his lap to stand between him and the woman, his hackles up.

"Circe," he said, in a low snarl.

This was Circe. The sorceress herself, the one who had changed him.

"Oh, this is intolerable," Circe said, in Greek. Her lip curled. "You refuse me as a man, but then _he_ \--" her gaze goes to Antonius-- "falls in love with you while you are a wolf?"

"I don't believe I command his feelings," Stephanos began. "Wait, _in love_?" His huge head snapped around in an instant, to stare at Antonius.

Antonius just shrugged. "As I said, you are a very handsome wolf."

Circe glared. "Very well. You have won, I suppose. The game no longer amuses me, and I wash my hands of it. If you want him, Roman, you may have him. I think you will like the true look of him even better."

From the folds of her cloak, she produced a wand, and the light from the tip of it was even brighter, and Antonius couldn't see--

When the light faded, the wolf was gone, and a man stood next to Circe. He was blue-eyed, as the wolf had been. He had fine flaxen hair. He was tall, maybe taller than Antonius, and well-favored indeed, rippling with golden muscle. And he was completely naked.

"You know," Antonius said, appreciatively, "I think you're right. He's very pretty."

Stephanos colored, but then turned back to Circe. "If I could beg another favor--"

"You already did," she said, imperiously.

But Stephanos remained uncowed. "That was for him," he said, low and determined. "This is for me."

"Oh, all right," she said. "It's his death sentence, isn't it?"

"It is. We cannot stay here."

Circe gave a decisive nod. "All right. Where shall I send you both?"

"I'm afraid I don't have a home anymore," Antonius said, when Stephanos looked at him. "All confiscated, you see."

"I used to," Stephanos said, low and intense, "but I do not know if--"

The stones on the wall grew bright and then gave way, as if they were a door. Beyond them Antonius saw mountains, the Greek countryside, and a little farmhouse. Cattle lowed to each other.

When Antonius glanced back at Stephanos, he was blinking back tears.

"I will go with you," Antonius said, "if you will have me."

Stephanos took his hand, and they stepped through together.

**Author's Note:**

> Do you know how many years I was in this fandom before I realized that Sersi was actually meant to be Circe? Dammit, Marvel.
> 
> (Also, here is the usual [Tumblr post](http://sineala.tumblr.com/post/169437587989/fic-man-is-a-wolf-to-man).)


End file.
